Hit the Road, (Uncle) Jack, and Don't You Come Back No More!
by Emachinescat
Summary: AU Tag to 'Greatest Adventure in the History of Basic Cable.' There was Uncle Jack, the treasure hunt, Jack's betrayal, the detectives' not showing up in time, all the guns and threats and something about misplaced modifiers, and then they'd taken him, leaving Gus behind as some kind of walking, talking, grammatically correct ransom note. So much for Jack being the "fun" uncle.
1. Part One

Hit the Road, (Uncle) Jack, and Don't You Come Back No More! by Emachinescat

A Psych Fan-Fiction

SUMMARY: OR "Strangest Hostage Situation in the History of Basic Cable." AU Tag to 'Greatest Adventure in the History of Basic Cable.' Shawn wakes up in the trunk of a car with a killer headache and some unpleasant memories: Uncle Jack, the treasure hunt, Jack's betrayal, the detectives' not showing up in time, all the guns and threats and something about misplaced moderators – modifiers, whatever – and then… they'd knocked him out, and left Gus behind as some kind of walking, talking, grammatically correct ransom note. And to top it all off, Shawn didn't even have his phone.

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_DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Psych._ And that's okay. Because I really believe that Steve Franks has got it covered way better than I ever could. He just has to make sure that the show never comes to an end, and I will be fully content with his reign._

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**A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a while. More than just a while, actually. A couple years, at least. When I first watched 4x3, I thought, "Oh, man, I _so_ wish Juliet wouldn't have picked up on Shawn's clue so quickly, because I would have loved to see Shawn get ransomed for Buchard's treasure. (I know, I'm so nice.) I thought for sure that someone would have written a fic about it, so I searched everywhere but couldn't find it. By everywhere, I mean on fanfiction . net and PsychFic, so maybe not _everywhere_, per say. So I decided I would write one myself. And for some reason unknown to me… I didn't. I never, ever got around to it. Until today. Because last night, I re-watched the episode (for like the fourth or fifth time) and finally resolved that I was going to write this story as soon as humanly possible, darn it! But then I fell asleep, so I'm writing it now. :) All that to say, this has been a long time coming, and I'm super excited about it. Hopefully, it'll turn out as well as I hope. Please read, review, and enjoy! :D**

**Oh, quick side-note. I don't remember if any of the bad guys were actually named in the show (besides Mark), and I'm not going to go into the greatest detail trying to describe them the way they were in the show. I'm not even entirely sure how many there were, but I'm thinking about three of each group of Jack's ex-partners. So I'm going to go with that. And I know, I know, I just watched the episode last night, but give me a break. Poetic license, or maybe laziness. I dunno; I've heard it both ways. :) Enjoy. And obviously, there will be spoilers for this episode. :)**

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**Hit the Road, (Uncle) Jack, and Don't You Come Back No More!**

**Part One**

Shawn Spencer was pretty sure that his Uncle Jack was supposed to be the "fun uncle". After all, what other kind of uncle would pose as his dad on career day at school and weave a bunch of swashbuckling treasure hunting stories, armed with his charm, awesome hair, and chocolate coins? Or that would leave pennies lying around to give the world a little more good luck? Or that would show up after years of silence with a treasure map to a French pirate's lost treasure and a promise of a fifty-fifty split? All of that was pretty fun.

Leaving Shawn and Gus, unarmed and alone in the woods, with two sets of armed bad guys (would it be sets? Groups? Flocks? Herds? Clans? No, Shawn was pretty sure _sets_ made the most sense, although _clans_ would sound way cooler.) on their tail, bad guys who, it was important to mention, hated Jack for being their partner and them abandoning them for somebody else, and who wanted the gold that Uncle Jack _thought_ he was making off with (Shawn had managed to switch the gold in the bag with rocks during a slight lull in the chase through the forest, and now he had a bit of the gold in his coat, while Gus had the rest), however, did not strike Shawn as very _fun_ at all. In fact, it was downright _un-fun_.

Add to that that the guys were now saying unpleasant things about how they should "take the nephew, and ransom his ass" for the gold, and you get a ridiculously fun-less sandwich with a very unhappy Shawn Spencer in the middle, with a side of freaked out Gus, hold the "fearless".

"We don't have a choice," one of the fake agents agreed. Now there were four guns trained on him and Gus. Two of the thugs were gone, and Shawn vaguely recalled hearing a few of them muttering about getting the car, so he presumed that was where they'd disappeared to. Shawn exchanged a nervous look with his best friend but when he addressed the remaining bad guys, he projected bravado that he didn't feel.

"You always have a choice," he pointed out. "Ransom Gus's ass instead." Gus shot Shawn an irritated glare, which Shawn promptly ignored. Of course, he didn't want them to take Gus, but picking on his partner was the best way for Shawn to keep the situation light, keep a clear head, and, perhaps most importantly, stall for time. "Or you could switch it up. Ransom half my ass and half his ass."

Shawn thought that his newest idea was rather clever, but apparently the men facing them did not agree. "Shut up!"

Shawn was actually silent for a bit, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. _Come on, Jules_, he thought desperately. _Where are you?_ Usually, when the situation came down to something as serious as this, help would come almost magically, usually in the form of Lassie and Juliet, sirens blazing and guns pointed, ready to save the day.

But they didn't come.

The goons were now talking amongst themselves, trying to come to an agreement about how they were going to go about getting the gold back from Jack. Shawn didn't like the dark looks they kept sending his way, and as much as he hoped that they had veered away from their ransom idea, he had a sinking feeling that if help didn't come soon, he might be in a lot of trouble.

Gus leaned in closer to Shawn and muttered, "Just give them the gold."

Shawn shot his best friend a withering look. "What? Why on earth would I do that?"

"Because," Gus said, glancing anxiously at the arguing treasure hunters, "they want to take you and ransom you for it. Give it to them now, and they'll leave us alone."

Shawn puckered his lips in thought. "I don't think so," he whispered back. "After all, these guys don't seem to be nearly as friendly as Uncle Jack said they'd be." He remembered his uncle's words: "Don't worry. They won't hurt you if they know you don't have the gold. I know what I'm talking about." Either he actually didn't know what he was talking about, or he'd really screwed Shawn and Gus over. Shawn desperately hoped for the former, but he had a pretty strong feeling that his uncle had known that they wouldn't be entirely safe with these guys, even without the gold. "If they get what they want, they'll have no reason to keep us around, especially now that we know the agents are frauds, and Mark and his cronies know how good I am."

"You think they'd kill us once they get the gold?" Gus asked, eyes wide.

"I wouldn't put it past them. I think we should play it safe for now, try to stall—"

Shawn's rushed whispers were cut off abruptly as the barrel of a gun was shoved into his face. He looked up to see Mark smirking down at him, his greasy black hair falling into his cold, hard eyes. "Having a nice chat?" he asked, glaring stonily at the captives.

"Oh, you know," Shawn said lightly. "Making plans for this weekend. You guys seen the new _Taken_ movie, yet? We're thinking that a treasure chest of Spanish gold might just cover all our tickets. We might even be able to get some Red Vines!"

Gus hissed for him to shut up just as Mark's gun found its way right under Shawn's chin. Shawn tilted his head back, swallowing heavily at the feel of the cold metal resting on his exposed skin. He'd been held at gunpoint before, but this was different. Even when the crazy, fake FBI psychic chick had put her gun to his temple, it hadn't been this terrifying. "You've got some nerve!" Mark hissed, digging the tip of the gun into Shawn's neck a little bit deeper.

Shawn quickly masked his fear with the last thing the bad guys wanted to hear – another sarcastic comment. "Oh, my bad," he said, and he was pleased to hear that there was only a tiny warble of fear in his voice, "are you not a Red Vines kind of guy? I bet you like chocolate. Lemme guess – you'd prefer peanut butter M&Ms with your popcorn and drink, am I right?"

Shawn thought he heard Gus mutter something worriedly about him being an idiot, but he had a hard time paying attention as the gun slid from under his chin to rest on the underside of his jaw, right under his left ear. "One more word, and I will shoot your friend," Mark promised, and suddenly the gun wasn't pressed to his jaw anymore, and it was pointed right at Gus's forehead. Right between his eyes. Shawn's heart skipped a beat as Gus's breath hitched. _Come on, Jules, Lassie. Where the heck are you guys?_

"We're running out of time; where are they with that car?" the fake Spanish government agent that was really from Argentina and seemed to be in charge (Shawn decided to dub him Señor Che until further notice) reminded Mark. Shawn glanced over at him and saw that his gun, as well as the rest of the men's guns, was still trained on Gus and him. Crap. There was no way he could try anything now.

"Right," Mark said. Keeping his gun trained steadily on Gus's sweet, chocolaty, magic head, he looked Shawn dead in the eye and said, "This is how it is going to work, Psychic. You are going to come with us. We're going to leave your friend here with a message for the police and your double-crossing uncle. They'll have forty-eight hours to get the gold to us – we'll contact them about when and where the exchange will take place, and if we get what we want, we'll return you, unharmed. If not…" Shawn wanted to say, _You'll let me go anyways, because you really have a heart of gold beneath all of that muscle and frowniness and hair grease?_ but he wasn't about to do or say anything that would put Gus in any further danger. This was a tricky situation, because Shawn really needed to keep these guys occupied until the incredibly late detectives showed up, but he couldn't stall without running the risk that his best friend would get a bullet to the brain. These guys were desperate, and they were serious. It was a vicious cycle. "…you'll be reunited with your family in pieces."

Mark finally lowered his gun from where it was leveled at Gus's head, but there were still three guns on them. Still, Shawn took this as a sign that his best friend was no longer in immediate danger, and he began to talk again. "That doesn't sound good. My family in pieces? I thought you were threatening me, not them."

"No, _you'll_ be in pieces," Mark growled, the look in his eyes suggesting that he was seriously considering skipping to the "pieces" part right now.

"Ooooh," Shawn and Gus intoned. "I gotcha, I gotcha," Shawn said, grinning nervously. "Man, you really gotta watch those misplaced moderators."

Gus, ever the grammarian, gave his best friend a withering look and corrected, "It's misplaced _modifiers_, Shawn."

"I've heard it both ways."

"Shut. Up." The gun was back, this time the cool barrel was resting on Shawn's forehead.

"Really, dude? Again with the gun?"

Mark didn't have time to answer, for at that moment, the dark sedan that Señor Che and his pals had been following them around in roared into the clearing, kicking up rocks and dirt as it screeched to a stop. One of Señor Che's men was driving, and one of Mark's goons was in the passanger's seat.

"Oh look," Señor Che said in his Argentinean-not-Spanish accent. "Looks like our ride is here."

Shawn tilted his head slightly, trying to ignore the cold metal against his head, as he looked behind him. He peered past an anxious Gus, his keen eyes searching desperately for any sign of backup. But there was no cloud of dust indicating that a car was approaching, no rustle of the foliage, no distant sound of sirens or an engine. One of the men had opened the trunk of the sedan, and he stood waiting. Shawn shifted his gaze to Gus, even as he was pushed roughly toward the truck, the gun still at his head. "Gus, buddy," Shawn said as he and his captor reached the trunk. "Take care of my hamster, Billy Zane, Jr."

"You don't have a hamster, Shawn."

"But if I did—" Shawn's newest attempt at stalling was abruptly cut off when something – the butt of the man's gun? – slammed into the back of his head. Over the buzzing in his ears, Shawn vaguely heard Gus shouting something. Shawn felt himself wobbling slightly as white dots danced in front of his eyes, and then another blow landed, this one behind his ear. This time, he pitched forward, falling head-first into the trunk, unconscious.

* * *

The trunk was shut, all six bad guys loaded into the car, their guns trained on the distraught Gus until the car peeled away, disappearing into the distance – but not before Gus was able to get the first few letters and numbers of the license plate. He considered trying to follow the car on foot, but it had vanished, and Gus had no way of knowing which way it had gone, so he opted on walking back the way he had come and trying to find help, doing everything that he could to keep his mind off the image of his best friend being kidnapped and shoved into a trunk while he just stood there, unable to do a thing to help.

Ten minutes after Shawn had been taken away, three police cars, led by Lassiter's vehicle, sirens blazing, met up with Gus several feet down the road from the clearing. They screeched to a halt, and Lassiter jumped out, his gun at the ready, as he approached the haggard and worried Gus. "Guster? What the hell are you doing here? Where's Spencer?"

Juliet was just getting out of the passenger's side as Gus shook his head sadly, and she was just in time to hear him reply, "I'm sorry. They took him; I couldn't do anything to help him. They drove off, and they're long gone by now."

Juliet's brow furrowed in concern. "Who took him?" Lassiter asked. "The fake agents?"

Gus nodded. "And the other guys – Mark and his men."

"Wait – they teamed up?"

Gus nodded again in response to Juliet's worried question. "They thought that Jack had the gold," he explained, trying in vain to keep his voice from shaking slightly, "and so they took Shawn as a hostage to get it back. They're giving us two days to get it back to them, or they'll…" He trailed off, his ominous silence speaking louder than any verbal explanation could.

"That's not good," said Juliet. Behind them, some of the officers were getting out of their cars, trying to figure out what was going on and why they'd stopped so suddenly.

"No, really?" Gus snapped sarcastically, feeling guilty for his sarcastic response almost as soon as it left his mouth. Juliet was one of the only real friends he had on the force, and she was (almost) always really patient with him, and he really didn't like being facetious with her.

Juliet either didn't notice or didn't care, and she went on, her blue eyes glinting in worry. "I mean, that they've joined together. It's going to be a versatile environment, because obviously neither group trusts the other one, and everything could go sour in an instant, especially with the prize that's at stake. And with Shawn right in the middle of it…"

"Wait," said Lassiter. "You said they _thought_ he had the gold."

Gus nodded, secretly impressed that Lassie had managed to catch on so quickly. "We switched out the gold with rocks while we were running through the forest," he explained. "Shawn's got some of the gold in his pockets, but most of it's with me. I didn't trust him not to lose it, plus I have bigger pockets. You never know when you might need pocket space," he concluded wisely. "It's a cautionary measure of mine that Shawn has never understood."

"Strangely enough, I get you," Lassiter said. "I always have extra pockets sewn into the inside of my jackets. You know, so I have more room for my firearms."

"Brilliant," Juliet said hastily. "But don't you think we should focus on _Shawn_? Gus, tell us exactly what happened."

"Well—"

"On the way," she amended, heading for the car again and waving for the waiting officers to get back in their own vehicles. "We should see if we can pick up a trail."

"If we don't find anything, we'll take it from there," Lassiter added. "Come on, Guster. Time's wasting."

* * *

Shawn woke up to a pounding headache, in a small, dark, stuffy, cramped place. In fact, it was so dark that he didn't realize how small it was until he tried to sit up and ended up whacking his head – again – on the cold metal lid to his prison. He then tried to stretch out, but he hit metal barriers on both sides, and that, coupled with the humming of an engine, the sensation of movement beneath him, and the way he kept sliding around whenever the movement shifted to the left or the right, led him to the conclusion that he was in a trunk, which, in turn, jogged his addled memory and reminded him about what had happened. Uncle Jack, the treasure hunt, Jack's betrayal, the detectives' not showing up in time, all the guns and threats and something about misplaced moderators – modifiers, whatever – and then… they'd knocked him out, and left Gus behind as some kind of walking, talking, grammatically correct ransom note. And to top it all off, Shawn didn't even have his phone. He'd allowed Gus to hold on to when they were running through the forest, because it had fallen out of his apparently far too shallow (according to Gus) pockets four times during their ultimately doomed escape attempt, and Gus had finally snatched it away to put in his deeper, more secure pockets for safekeeping when it had almost ended up sharing the same slimy, muddy fate as Gus's Puma.

Crap.

Shawn wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but they seemed to be on a fairly straight road now, because he hadn't been thrown against either side of the trunk in at least two minutes. Grateful at least for this small mercy, Shawn took the moment to try to work past the pounding in his skull and brought his hand up to the back of his head, wincing when he felt the sting and touched something wet. Great. He was bleeding. For a short moment, he imagined Gus right there in the trunk with him, telling him to lick it. Then he kicked Imaginary Gus out of the trunk, because it was getting cramped, awkward, and way to close for comfort with both of them crammed into the trunk. He made a mental note to tell Gus (imaginary or otherwise) that he might need to lay off the donuts for a while.

Shawn thought that he might have been hit a little too hard on the head, because his mind was wandering off into different directions, and he really needed to focus. He forced himself to stay on topic (something that he had never been good at), and tried to remember everything his father had taught him about being locked in a trunk.

_"What you would do, is you would kick out the back taillight. That way, you can create a hole so that you can look out, see where you are."_

"Okay, Dad," Shawn whispered. "Let's do this." It took a couple of tries, because his foot's aim wasn't that great, especially since they turned a corner right as he was trying to kick it out the first time, which sent his whole body careening to the right, crashing into the side of the trunk with an "oomph!" Finally, though, he managed to kick out the taillight and sent it skittering down the road. Shawn blinked at the sudden light that invaded his formerly dark prison, the bright sunlight making his headache worse than it had been to begin with. He was surprised, because after being knocked out and waking up in a dark trunk, he had had no idea what time it was, and he was relieved to find out that it was still light outside, but was not so thrilled to discover that they were on a lonely, unfamiliar road with trees all around and no distinct landmarks that he could. He hadn't been missing for very long, but he hoped that Lassie and Jules had found Gus by now and that they were well on their way to finding him. That didn't mean he wasn't going to do his very best to escape in the meantime, however.

He squinted his eyes against the light and tried to find the little cord with the light-up handle that they installed in trunks as a safety precaution, but it was nowhere to be found. He groped around with his fingers, but he couldn't even find the cord without the handle. At long last, he was able to locate the tiny wire that had once been connected to the handy-dandy trunk opener, but after fumbling with it for several long minutes, Shawn was forced to conclude that it had been snapped off so much so that he would never be able to get the stupid trunk open. Twisting around, Shawn also noticed with annoyance that there were no crowbars or anything else that he might be able to use to lever the trunk open. He stared longingly through the small opening where the headlight had once been, coming to the grim and inevitable conclusion that he was, indeed, stuck.

For the first time in his life, Shawn wished that his Uncle Jack had just stayed wherever the heck he'd been and not come back into his life – because right now, his "cool" uncle was doing _much_ more harm than good.

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**A/N: What did you think? More soon, I promise (I've already got some of the next part written, and seeing as I really don't need to add yet another story to my list, I'll probably focus on finishing this before I do too many more (or, quite possibly) any updates on my other stories! :) Please review, and I'll update this (not to mention _The Hunter, the Psychic, and the Bathrobe_) very soon!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	2. Part Two

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Psych_. [Insert something clever here.]_

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**A/N: Yeah... "soon." Soon in my book must not be as soon as in the rest of the world's book. I totally deserve that troll face I got! Sorry for the delay, guys! I really have no excuse... But I'm back, and here to stay! :D Hopefully you are all still interested since this took so long to get out! Please read, review, and enjoy! :)**

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**Hit the Road (Uncle) Jack, and Don't You Come Back No More!**

**Part Two**

* * *

Jack Spencer was sitting in his car, pulled over on the side of the road, looking in shock at the passenger's seat full of rocks - plus one penny, the cheeky kid - and he said, "Well done, Shawny." Frustrated, at his nephew and at himself for being so gullible, Jack threw his car into gear and was about to drive off - to where, he had no idea, but he was sick of Santa Barbara by now - and his cell phone rang.

Driving down the road, he grumbled to himself about too-clever psychic nephews and pointless treasure hunts and mutinous ex-partners as he fished for his cell phone in his pocket. He glanced briefly at the caller ID, groaning when he saw it was his brother. He really had no desire whatsoever to talk to Henry or Shawn right now. Still, he answered the phone, rolling his eyes as he did so. He _so_ didn't need this right now.

"Henry, whatever you have to say-"

He was cut off almost immediately. "_Jack Spencer, you stupid, SELFISH -" _Jack winced and pulled the phone away from his ear as his brother's loud, livid voice yelled angrily in his ear. He listened with mild interest and great distaste as his brother finished whatever rant he was on, not able to make out words with the phone away from his ear, but easily able to hear the general buzz of Henry's distaste.

When the noise on the other line ceased, Jack braved putting the phone back to his ear and was rewarded for his brave efforts when his eardrum wasn't busted out.

"Henry," he started in the most patient tone he could muster.

"Did you hear a damn thing I just said, Jack?"

"Not really," Jack admitted. "I was too busy trying to keep my eardrum from being destroyed."

Henry growled on the other line, but he lowered his voice as he repeated himself, venom still dripping off of his words. "You left Shawn and Gus stranded with two groups of angry thugs on their tail."

Jack huffed. "That's what you're on about? Henry, I know these guys; they're rough, but they're basically harmless. They _thought_ that they didn't have the gold," (he put all of the enmity he felt for being bamboozled into the word "thought"), "so they were safe. Besides, what's done is done, so where do you get off calling me about something that's in the past?"

"Jack, you were wrong."

"I know," Jack said mournfully. "They tricked me. I don't have the gold."

"No, I mean - they took Shawn."

It felt like a lead weight dropped in Jack's stomach. He was ticked off at his nephew, and rightly so, but that didn't mean he wanted or ever meant for anything bad to happen to the kid. "What?"

"They teamed up, and they took Shawn. We'll have two days to get the gold to them, and if they don't get it, he'll die."

"Oh," said Jack, quite at a loss for what to say. How could this have spiraled out of control so quickly? Of course, he probably shouldn't have left Shawn at the mercy of those goons in the first place, but he'd honestly thought they'd ignore Shawn and Gus in lieu of chasing down himself, while he got away neatly with the gold. Or the rocks and a penny. Whatever. "But I don't have the gold."

"I know. We do. Gus had it with him and gave it to us."

"So why don't you trade it for Shawn and get it over with?"

"You didn't think we'd thought of that?" Henry snapped. "No, as soon as we got back to the station, the _real _Mexican government had its officials right on our doorstep, demanding their property back. We have no jurisdiction over the gold, and they're already on the plane to Mexico with it."

"They wouldn't let you use it at all?"

"Too afraid they would lose it to the kidnappers," Henry said, sounding defeated.

"Couldn't you declare marshal law or something on them?"

There was a silence, and then Henry snapped, "You are an idiot, Jack Spencer."

Jack swallowed. "I know," he said softly. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure about me," Henry said darkly, "but _you _are going to turn your car around from wherever you're trying to run away, you are going to come back to the station, and you are going to do anything and everything we tell you to do in order to get Shawn back. You've done a lot of bone-headed things in the past, Jack, but this time, you've put your nephew's, my _son's_, life on the line, and if Shawn doesn't come out of this okay, I swear to you, I will never, ever forgive you. Now turn the damn car around and get back to the police station - _now_."

Jack gulped and resisted the urge to say, "Yes, sir," and before his enraged brother even had a chance to hang up the phone, Jack had pulled a U-turn and was heading back toward Santa Barbara.

* * *

"Hello," said Shawn cheerily as the trunk was flung open. Four armed men, Señor Che included, were standing over him. One of them - Mark's right hand man - had a coil of rope in his hands. Shawn groaned. "Oh, come on, again with the rope?"

"Take him," ordered Señor Che, and before Shawn even had time to blink, he was being pulled none-too-gently out of the trunk. They threw him roughly to the ground, and he landed heavily on his stomach, grunting in pain. He lay there, winded, but before he was able to get his breath back, one of them had a foot on his back, pressing him into the gravel that he had just become one with.

"Mrrmph," Shawn said wisely as his face was smushed roughly into the gravel, a few of the sharper rocks piercing his skin. "Erph."

"Shut up," said one of Mark's men (Shawn decided to call him Rufus, for he was bald and had a big mole on his nose). Shawn's arms were roughly wrenched behind his back by a few of the thugs, and he felt rough rope wrap tightly around his wrists. He grunted loudly in protest, and was kicked harshly in the ribs, and he gasped soundlessly, the air driven from his lungs with the tip of the steel-toed boot. _Ouch._

They pulled him to his feet and shoved him toward a rundown cabin surrounded by trees, their new kidnapper's haunt, apparently.

Still winded from being kicked, Shawn didn't say anything as he was pushed and prodded down the gravel walkway, through the grass, and up the rickety stairs. The door was flung open by Mark, who had apparently gone ahead with a couple of other goons to make sure the cabin was ready for their new guest. How thoughtful. Somehow, Shawn was having a hard time being grateful for the gesture, though… Maybe it was because he knew that these guys didn't exactly have his comfort foremost in their minds...

Shawn was pushed inside, and he briefly considered trying to make a break for it, but almost as if Mark had sensed his thoughts, as soon as the desperate idea jumped into Shawn's head, the gun in Mark's hand was pointed _at_ his head, and he knew there was no escape in that moment. The men started prodding him toward a chair in the middle of the unfurnished, dilapidated room and Shawn, his voice finally returning with the air to his lungs, said, "Okay, okay, guys, I think you've made your point. I can see that you're all pretty serious about this whole treasure thing. But I'm a generous guy. How about this? You guys can… look at the treasure. Maybe even touch it, sniff it, possibly roll in it, although that seems pretty unsanitary. Just let me go, and we'll call it even."

The answer was the back of Rufus's hand crashing across his face. Shawn managed to bite back a howl of pain, as it felt like the entire left side of his face had completely caved in. He felt something warm and wet on his cheek and knew that he now had another cut to match the one already on his dizzy, aching head. He struggled to stay upright, but his vision was going in and out fuzzily after that last vicious blow. He struggled to stay in focus as he was pushed toward the chair, made to sit down, and was bound tightly to its frame.

And as much as Shawn Spencer wanted to say something, anything, a biting remark or a joke, or a sarcastic comment, his head and face were stinging in pain, he was dizzy and sick, and even as he opened his mouth to comment on this rather unfortunate situation, his eyes slid shut and everything went black as he finally, unwillingly, but perhaps fortunately, succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

Jack walked into the conference room at the station, palms sweating slightly and stomach rolling uneasily. Normally, the suave, fast-talking adventurer was on top of things, and he had his cool, calm, and collected facade down pat. But this was _his_ nephew, _his _mistake, and _his_ fault, not to mention his butt - maybe even his _life_, judging by the venom in big bro's voice on the phone - on the line, depending on his actions here and now.

He hadn't wanted this to happen. Of course he didn't. Shawn might have been smart-alek and a pain in the ass some (most) of the time, but Jack still loved the kid (even if sometimes he didn't _like _him), and he would have never left Shawn and Gus behind if he'd thought this would happen. He tried in vain not to think about how violent his ex-partners were, and he cursed himself for getting Shawn into this situation in the first place.

Everyone was glaring stonily at him as he slunk in the room. He didn't actually know most of the people in the room. Gus and Henry he knew, of course, but the other three, he wasn't so sure.

"Mr. Spencer," said the blonde frowny woman with short hair at the head of the long conference table. "You came."

"Course I did," he said, trying to adopt a hurt tone but only managing to sound like he was half-strangled instead. "You doubted me?"

"From what your brother and nephew have told me about you, yes, I did," the lady said shortly, brown eyes burning. "You've caused a lot of trouble, Jack."

"It wasn't just me-" Jack began, but then realized just how childish he sounded and settled with sinking down into the nearest chair. "Yeah. I know. But how was I supposed to know that my partners were going to take Shawn?"

"It shouldn't have mattered!" a glowering Henry exploded, leaping nimbly, angrily to his feet. "You left your own blood out there, knowingly, with no protection! You used him as your scapegoat so that you could get away with the gold." He cursed. "I always said you were a sleaze-bag, Jack, but I never took you for the scum you really are!"

"Well you-"

"Enough!" the blonde woman said firmly. "This isn't going to help Mr. Spencer." She faced Jack with a look in her eyes that made the normally confident and belligerent adventurer want to dig a hole right there in the station floor and go crawl in it. "I don't believe we've officially met. I'm Chief Karen Vick, and the two detectives with me are Detectives Carlton Lassiter and Juliet O'Hara. You know Gus, of course."

Swallowing heavily, Jack nodded at Gus in recognition, but the young man simply gave him a look of such contempt that he might have staggered back if he hadn't been seated. Both detectives, the one who looked astonishingly like a grumpy Mr. Bean and the pretty blonde, looked positively murderous. Wow, he'd really screwed this one up, hadn't he.

"What are we going to do?" he asked weakly.

"They're your partners," the chief said slowly. "Or were. You know them better than any of us. You are going to tell us everything you know about them, you are going to think of every single place you've ever met up, any piece of information - whether you believe it to be relevant or irrelevant - you are going to follow every order, and you are going to _whatever it takes_ to get Mr. Spencer back. Am I clear?"

Jack nodded mutely, words stuck in his throat.

Detective Lassiter spoke up. "Now, in order to find Spencer, we need to-"

He was cut off as "Eye of the Tiger" blasted through the conference room. Jack winced, grabbing his cell phone and staring at it, face paling. "It's Mark," he said dryly. His heart pounded. What if Shawn was already dead? Shot in the head, and it was all Jack's fault…

He was brought out of his horrified stupor as Detective O'Hara snapped, "He's probably giving you the ransom notice. Answer it."

"And put it on speaker," Henry and Lassiter intoned, then glanced at each other, both scowling.

With a trembling finger, Jack answered the phone and put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jack," came Mark's smug voice. "Have you heard the news?"

Jack glanced at the chief, who mouthed, _Play dumb._

Jack adopted an easy tone, hoping that his ex-partner wouldn't notice the tension hidden beneath the jokes. "What, that you got outsmarted by this crafty devil? Oh yeah. I've heard."

Lassiter already somebody silently waved into the room, motioning that they needed to try to track the call. The officer nodded and hurried out of the room. Jack met Henry's eye, and his brother encouraged, _Keep him talking._

Jack jerked his head forward in a slight nod. Mark chuckled darkly. "So you haven't. Your nephew, you know, the smart-mouthed one that caved as soon as we started giving you the third degree?" Jack's stomach clenched, disgusted at himself as he remembered how quickly Shawn had come to his defense. And what had he done to repay his nephew? Gotten him kidnapped, that's what. Jack wasn't used to these nearly overwhelming feelings of guilt, and he didn't like them one bit.

"Shawn, yeah. What about him?" Jack was amazed that he was able to keep the tremble out of his voice, but when he realized that his phone was shaking violently in his grip, he realized that the tremors must have somehow relocated to his hands.

"He's with me."

Jack cursed, which felt appropriate at the moment, even if Mark's big reveal wasn't the surprise that the man had hoped it would be.

"Just leave him out of this!" Jack protested.

"Sorry, Jackie," Mark simpered. "Can't. I was going to call and tell you that you had two days to hand over the gold, or your nephew's dead, just in case his little friend hadn't tracked you down and told you yet."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Was?" he asked, and, looking around, he saw a similar confused expression on the other faces at the table. "What do you mean, was?"

"Don't play dumb, Jack. You know full well that you were outsmarted by that brat. Now, I'm calling to tell you that the ransom's off."

Jack fumbled to find the right words. "I… you… how?" Okay, so he definitely fumbled that one.

"Found the coins in his pocket when we searched him, after he passed out," Mark informed him.

Mouth dry, trying his best to ignore the angry and worried looks at the table around him, Jack stammered, "You said you wouldn't hurt him."

"No, I said that he wouldn't die if you gave me the gold. I didn't say I wouldn't hurt him. You need to pay better attention, Jack."

"He only took a few of the coins," Jack lied. "I have the rest."

"Nice try," Mark sneered, "but after a bit of… persuasion…" (Jack did _not_ like the way that Mark said "persuasion"), "we got him to tell the truth."

Jack cleared his throat nervously. "The truth?"

"Oh, yes, Jack. We know where the treasure is. And we're about to leave to collect it right now."

"Wait. Where is it?"

Mark snorted disdainfully. "Like we would tell you. That brat of yours told us exactly where he buried it."

Buried it? Jack glanced around at everyone around the table, and noted their puzzled, anxious expressions. What the heck was the kid playing at? What kind of bluff had he made? Voice shaking slightly, Jack ordered, "Well, if you know where it is, let Shawn go. Just tell me where he's at, and I'll come get him while you get the treasure, huh?"

"No, the kid's taking us _to_ the exact spot he buried the gold. And then, if he's lying, or thinks he's a wise-ass and can outsmart us, and the treasure's not there, we're going to bury _him_ in the hole we dig up instead."

_Click._

"Oh boy," said Jack faintly. "And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse."

Time was running out. They needed to find Shawn. And _fast_.

* * *

**A/N: Soooo... I _was_ going to make this be a 2-parter, and this the final segment, but I decided it will be a 3-part instead. I _do_ actually have the ending of the story planned out now, and my Psych-muse has returned to me, but I'm going to cut it off here and give you the rest sometime soon! :D Evil, I know. Muahaha, and all that.**

**And don't worry! Next chapter, you'll get Shawn's side of the story - what happened to lead up to this crazy convo with Mark and Jack, and, of course, the search and rescue bit! Also, will Jack be able to redeem himself at all?**

**I'll try my darndest not to make you wait even _half_ as long as you waited for this one for the next one! :)**

**Please review. They really do encourage me to write faster, and more. This chapter probably wouldn't be out yet if it weren't for PippenStrange's review earlier today. So thanks!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


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